


We Are Called to the Supper

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cultural Differences, Economics, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Musical Instruments, Mutual Pining, Post-War, Ultra Rarepair Big Bang (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: Dimitri is King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Ferdinand is his Prime Minister of Adrestia.On the anniversary of the war's ending, their responsibilities clash with their hearts.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Comments: 15
Kudos: 70
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	We Are Called to the Supper

**Author's Note:**

> Accompanied by lovely art by feelingwhimsy (Twitter @whimsyfeels) for the Ultra Rarepair Big Bang 2020!

**i.** _your heart will sing the sky_

Fhirdiad is overcast even in the summer. 

Ferdinand finds this somewhat unsettling. Adrestria, aside from the northern reaches that border the Narrows between Fódlan and Albinea, is hot and sunny through the late spring to mid-autumn. The former Alliance is drier in the south and humid in the east. Aside from the western and southern reaches of Faerghus, which are given to heavy fog and mild summers, the rest of the land is cold and, outside of the brief rainy season, very dry. 

Ferdinand grew up studying maps and travel diaries, imagining himself off on an adventure or some valiant quest, so he was aware of this. He knows, too, from recent agricultural surveys, that most of the Kingdom is arid and has been for some time. Very little grows in the east as the south-east is the lava valley of Ailell, and the far north of Gautier and Itha hay and hearty grain fields the famed Gautier livestock and Itha poultry but not much else. The trouble with the Western Church reached its height during the war and is still a major point of contention and occasional skirmishes. In the future, the area could be developed for orchards, but since the collapse of House Gaspard, land ownership has become a source of tension. More than sixty percent of the arable land sits overgrown and untitled. 

Correlating those surveys with the war’s damage to the southern farmland inclusive of Charon, Remire, and Magred put into perspective for Ferdinand why Duscur, with its unique growing season in the north-west, had been a prime territory. The Tragedy and Lord Kleiman’s complete mismanagement of the territory destroyed the economy of Northern and Western Faerghus in the early days of the war. Lord Kleiman knew little of how to manage more than a household, and this became glaringly obvious in how easily he fell beneath Cordelia’s thumb.

Or perhaps he was always under her thumb. Ferdinand does not delve into Cordelia as her deeds are only his business when they relate to his usual tasks of taxation and agricultural surveys. He is glad for that. The smell of her magic and memory of her cruel smile are things that visit him on nights when his sleep is disturbed. 

“The fact of the matter is,” Ferdinand concludes as he rides with Bernadetta through the southern gates of Fhirdiad, “House Kleiman did not have the expertise, internal resources, or connections to manage more than itself. Lord Kleiman’s ambitions were utterly selfish and irresponsible.”

Bernadetta nods, lips and eyebrows drawn together as she considers both the long spiel Ferdinand subjected her to and the street ahead. When they retook Fhirdiad during the war, these streets were full of broken or boarded over windows, and that is likely Bernadetta’s memory of the city itself. This is the first time she has left House Varley since the end of the war, so the sight of the modest but now clean and mostly repaired main street stands out starkly.

Ferdinand understands this very well. Since he accepted Dimitri and Byleth’s offer that he take up the position of Prime Minister to help manage Adrestia, walking the still broken streets of Enbarr aches keenly. Aegir recovered more seamlessly, but that is because Ferdinand spent three years almost exclusively between there and Ordelia and Hyrm, rectifying his father’s wrongs. Returning to Enbarr two years before to find it had stayed much the same since he swept through with the rest of the Kingdom and Church of Seiros’s forces had felt like a punch in the gut. It explained greatly why Dorothea and Maneula had been civil but withdrawn in their post-war communications. 

Neither of them were equipped to deal with the political and economic morass the collapse of the Empire left behind. He is Prime Minister of Adrestia only because they along with Dimitri and Byleth made clear that there was no other option. Petra has ascended to the throne of Brigid, and Bernadetta has no interest in public life. Linhardt and Caspar, the last Ferdinand heard, have gone on some sort of adventure abroad from Fódlan. This rankles Ferdinand somewhat because the vacuum created by their departure has made restructuring the much reduced Adrestian court even more difficult. 

Ferdinand sighs through his nose and immediately regrets it. The air is so cold and dry that his nose has started running. He fishes around on his belt for his handkerchief.

“Lord Kleiman’s ambitions,” Bernadetta says, looking at Ferdinand as he wipes his nose, “remind me of my father and grandfather, especially because he allied so closely with Cordelia and the Empire. They wanted to expand their power even as they began to lose it.” 

“Apologies,” Ferdinand mumbles before taking a moment to blow his nose; he stuffs his handkerchief away as he says, “I agree.”

Bernadetta inclines her head. She returns her gaze to the road, taking in the sights as they pass through the southern market square. It is bustling, and they make careful progress among the stalls and the many shoppers and hawkers. Children run underfoot and hoof, so both Berndetta and Ferdinand are careful to keep good control over their mounts, who are former war horses and liable to lash out if someone bumps into them. Ferdinand listens to Bernadetta humming just audibly and pretends he does not see how her hands clutch so hard upon her reins that her arms tremble. 

In the war, Bernadetta screamed every time she let loose an arrow. She shook and squawked, but her aim never wavered. Her shots flew harder and truer every time she got knocked down, and she ran into the flames of war, howling her distaste to the sky until, in the throne room of Enbarr, Bernadetta knelt where Edelgard fell and wept. 

Ferdinand stood in the light that streamed in through the windows and wondered, uselessly:

 _Did it have to be this way?_

“Ferdinand,” Bernadetta says, drawing his attention back, “which way to the castle?”

“Ah,” Ferdinand says, and he motions to the north, “we are only twenty minutes.”

Bernadetta nods. She does not smile. 

Between the two of them, they do not need to pretend. 

The rest of the ride is uneventful aside from watching the sights. The whole of Fhirdiad is even busier than usual because of the fifth anniversary of the end of the war. As the entire city is the seat of House Blaiddyd, the most prosperous in the wake of the war, it has the wealth and the resources to put on a full two day festival culminating on the final night beneath the Midsummer Moon. Shopkeepers and inns are ready to display the bounty that victory has brought to the new and growing heart of Fódlan. Garlands of Blaiddyd blue and Seiros silver line the main roads leading to the castle, and the new banners of the great Blaiddyd lion fly high. 

A part of Ferdinand, a remnant of his more innocent and sheltered childhood days, is still surprised and awed to see how the dour city has changed in just a handful of years. It was in disrepair following the Tragedy and fell into tyrannical chaos under Cordelia. This new prosperity has been hard-earned by the people, aided by Dimitri spending out a good portion of his own House’s treasury. 

The other part of Ferdinand, who is the Duke Aegir, a General of the newly united Fódlan, and the Prime Minister of Adrestia, has no small amount of envy for the state of the city. Aegir is in good condition, benefiting in the past year from its ability to grow imported Brigid grapefruit and lemons as well as the very successful revival of the apple cider and mead production. Enbarr, however, has struggled with rising crime, particularly towards the southern coast. The artisan guilds have all but collapsed, gutted for business during the war and unable to meet the standards set by the wealthier Leicester territories of Gloucester and Goneril. 

“This is very elaborate,” Bernadetta says as they draw to a halt before the castle gates behind two carts, one full of vegetables and the other with barrels of wine. “I mean, I suppose it would be. Fives and tens are always big anniversaries. I hope I am not underdressed…” 

“I am sure you will be beautiful,” Ferdinand says, although he also feels quite drab and almost stingy looking at the heaps of vegetables. “You know that His Highness and our friends do not judge.” 

“It is not those opinions I worry about,” Bernadetta sighs, but she smiles small and faintly strained. “Still, thank you.”

Ferdinand inclines his head. Bernadetta has, like himself, travelled lightly. Adestria is still distrusted, even the territories and noble houses like Varley and Aegir which distanced themselves early in the war from Edelgard. It would not do for the Countess Varley to arrive in riches. At the same time, there is a very thin line between being humbly dressed and causing offense for not putting on proper pomp and circumstance.

After the vegetable cart rolls through the gate and the wine cart moves forward, Ferdinand spots Marianne dressed in administrative finery directing several merchants on foot. She recognises Ferdinand and Bernadetta, offering a smile and a nod in response to their waves. The wine merchant takes less time to pass through as the order of wine is only two thumb-lengths of paper long, and taxes have been lifted for alcohol and luxury goods for the duration of the festival. 

Bernadetta glances at Ferdinand, her lips quirked slightly. Ferdinand tries not to preen too obviously. He does take good pride in that particular bit of administrative genius. 

“Countess Varley, Duke Aegir,” Marianne says as they pull up to the gate and hand over a bit of coin for two gatespeople to transport their luggage, “thank you for joining us in Fhirdiad.” 

“Thank you for having us,” Bernadetta says as Ferdinand twists around on his mare to help the gateperson unbuckle his pack. “I love your hair pin! Is that a Goneril?” 

“Oh, yes,” Marianne says, unconsciously reaching up and passing her fingertips over the silver crest holding her hair up. “Hilda brought it. I think she has gifts for everyone as well as a number of things for the raffle.” 

“The raffle?” Ferdinand asks, turning back. 

Marianne nods, breaking away from the gate to walk between Bernadetta and Ferdinand and towards the stables. “It is for the new children’s homes in Fraldarius,” she says, smiling warmly at both of their noises of surprise. “Felix has very smartly seen the merit from the success of the King and both of your projects. He’s opted to turn his former House seat into homes and a school.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Ferdinand says as they come into the stableyard and begin dismounting their horses. “He has been spending most of the year here, has he not?” 

“And recently in Charon,” Marianne says as Ferdinand hands the reins of his horse to a stablehand. “I believe he is trying to drum up support to restart their sports and tourneys. Catherine is interested.” 

“Oh, dear,” Bernadetta murmurs, shaking her head. “It will all be swords and brawling if they have their way.” 

“That is the King’s thought as well,” Marianne says, her smile slightly lopsided. 

Ferdinand has the urge to ask further, but it occurs to him as Bernadetta opens her mouth that asking more about Dimitri’s personal opinions while surrounded by undisguised listening ears may not be appropriate. The Fhirdiad court is just as prone to gossip, rumour, and intrigue as the old Enbarr court, but it is natural gossip rather than rumour planted by internal spies. The lack of spies has less to do with chivalry or appropriateness, and much more to do with Dimitri and his close advisory council’s commitment to transparency and social openness. This approach has been essential to stabilising Dimitri’s influence and asserting his power among his own citizens. It does well for his image as the Saviour King, despite Dimitri’s known discomfort with the name. 

“You seem to have a lot on your mind,” Marianne says, drawing Ferdinand back from his vacant meanderings. 

“Hm?” Ferdinand starts before startling, causing Bernadetta and Marianne to both smirk at him for some odd reason. “Of course! This is a very important occasion!” 

“It is,” Bernadetta says, still smirking at him.

“I am certain the King agrees,” Marianne soothes, clearly teasing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ferdinand asks, feeling off-kilter and indignant as they climb the steps into the eastern entrance to the castle. “What have I done?”

“You have not done anything,” Marianne murmurs, placating and bizarrely knowing. “Come now, you two, and I will show you to your rooms.” 

**ii.** _though your body is on the ground_

The attendance in the main hall is to full capacity. 

Ferdinand has never seen quite so many people inside House Blaiddyd, although that may be because he had taken a bad blow to the head in their final battle against Edelgard and missed the victory feast in Fhirdiad. He had mostly recovered thanks to Manuela and Mercedes’s attention, but he had still suffered occasional dizzy spells for a month after the final battle that prevented him from traveling. From what Marianne and Mercedes later told him, he had not missed very much between then and Byleth’s installation as Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, which Ferdinand was able to attend. Most of the roads to Garreg Mach were still dangerous and remained so for a couple years following the war as Houses and territories were redistributed and reconsolidated. 

Tonight, for the anniversary gala, people pack tight to fit into the hall. The seated meal was, in typical Kingdom style, grand in its offerings, long in speeches and toasts, and incredibly perfunctory in the actual eating. The dining tables have been cleared to make room for musicians, bards, and dancing, and much of the food has been cleared to be taken outside to share with the castle staff and the townspeople. This is apparently a return to Dimitri’s father’s style of kingship, which has taught Ferdinand more than anything else why Dimitri continues to love and admire his father. 

Lambert, in Ferdinand’s private opinion, was not an astute king. He was, however, a popular king because he knew what would make the majority of his people happy, and he was an excellent battlefield commander. He was not a strong politician, and he would have excelled better if he delegated his administration. He was loose with money, and he was easily beguiled by elegant women close to his station. His weaknesses were easy for more politically and ambitious members of his court to take advantage.

Dimitri, on the other hand, is a better politician. He is not a natural, but he surrounds himself with people who are. Sylvain is a born politician as is Marianne now that she has found her voice with the help of the Margrave. Felix, despite his personality, has the fearlessness to cut to the core of political and social interactions. Ferdinand also likes to think he is a good example. He lacks what was Edelgard and Hubert’s inborn intuitiveness, but he makes up for it with modulated compassion and better knowledge than Sylvain, Marianne, and Felix of the needs and desires of Adestria. Lorenz is much the same with his unignorable and valuable input of the southern Leicester territories. 

It is, in thoughts like this, that Ferdinand appreciates how very lucky they have been that they all survived the war together. The war itself was not pleasant, and there are many things that Ferdinand himself misses, regrets, and mourns. He does not know and likely never will if it was truly necessary. The idea that there might have been a better way will haunt him until the end of his days. 

He knows, too, that it haunts Dimitri even moreso. What ghosts linger from the worst days of the war are doubtlessly still there. Dimitri has, however, made great and admirable strides, and he places his duty before his personal feelings. It is as a king should, and Ferdinand admires this with every bit of his being. 

It is also why he understands, at least a little, the depth of Dimitri’s burden. 

Ferdinand’s gaze drifts to his right. Seated to Dimitri’s left, he tries not to glance too long at his King. Not because his gaze would be unwelcome but because he is on Dimitri’s good side and Ferdinand’s attention will distract Dimitri from finishing his meal. He looks tired in the faint shadows beneath his eye and in his cheeks, but his jaw moves calmly on his bite of roast pheasant. He is dressed finely and with none of his heavy armour. The clasp for his embroidered collar is silver and clearly one of Hilda’s donations for the raffle. 

Dimitri’s eye moves and meets Ferdinand’s gaze. He swallows. 

“Duke Aegir?”

Ferdinand hopes very much he does not flush. He has water in his toasting goblet just as Dimitri and most of the high table, so he cannot make up an excuse about drink. He rallies and opens his mouth.

“I was looking at your collar.” 

It is not a particularly good save. With nearly anyone else, it would easily be taken as an innuendo. Dimitri, thankfully, simply blinks and looks briefly down like he has forgotten what he is wearing. It is possible he has. 

“Oh,” he says, clearly having forgotten. “Hilda said her brother made this one and claimed he is getting better.”

“He is getting better,” Ferdinand says as Dimitri looks up curiously. “Holst was not particularly good at fine work when he started.”

“I am certain he is better than me,” Dimitri says, setting his fork and knife down and smiling lopsidedly as he picks up his napkin. “I nearly broke this attempting to put it on.” 

Ferdinand laughs because he can tell Dimitri wants him to relax. 

Dimitri’s gaze roves over the dancing. The bards. Musicians. It is painfully easy to tell how little Dimitri likes the crowd. It is not because he dislikes any particular individual nor the entertainment in dancing or music or song. His discomfort has everything to do with the number of people densely packed into the hall. Dimitri was not a people person prior to the war, and, while he has greatly improved since his worst days, he has never become comfortable with more than a few of their close friends and advisors. Even among them, Dimitri is full of unvoiced doubts. 

It is part of why he is ambivalent at best to the moniker bestowed upon him by his supporters as the Saviour King. It is hard to feel like you have saved anyone when you are perpetually uncomfortable with yourself. 

Ferdinand can relate to that. He was, before going to Garreg Mach, an awkward, shy child, and he initially overcompensated by trying to be everything he was not. Dimitri tried his best to be a proper, chivalrous prince. Ferdinand tried to be a noble worthy of being leader. Dimitri’s veneer cracked and burned to ashes in Remire and in the face of the Flame Emperor. Ferdinand, in fear and desperation as the Empire turned against everything he believed in, gathered those who would stand with him and ran. 

It was all they could do if they wanted to survive. 

In the end, they have both ended up back where they started. Dimitri is King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Ferdinand is his Prime Minister of Adrestia. The major difference is Dimitri is a King who listens to the wise and not the flatters, and Ferdinand serves a worthy ruler. They can trust Byleth as the Archbishop of the Church. They are both people who blossomed and bloomed in the shadow of darkness that they knew a bit of but did not fully understand in time to stop it engulfing the world and people they knew and loved. They spent years wandering. By the time they came back together, they were changed. 

“Ferdinand,” Dimitri says, very low. 

Ferdinand glances at him. Dimitri has set down his goblet. He watches Dimitri’s eyes darting around the throne room, assessing who is with whom and whether any attention is being paid to himself or Ferdinand. It is, of course, foolish to hope that no one will be paying them attention, but most people have gotten into the dancing or have been sufficiently distracted by Sylvain, up to his usual antics and Annette, who has been coerced into singing.

Dimitri rises, surprisingly quiet for all of his regalia and heavy boots. It is impressive even without his heavy armour because of all the layers and pieces to his ceremonial garb. It is not, however, surprising. Dimitri has always been quiet, even back in their academy days. He became stealthy after the years of war and hiding. He glances briefly at Ferdinand before moving towards the privacy door behind the high table and throne. He opens it and, after stepping through it, leaves it just slightly ajar. 

Ferdinand does not know if this is an order or an invitation. Either way:

He follows. 

**iii.** _it is your providence to choose how to be free_

The interior of House Blaiddyd is very similar to Garreg Mach Monastery. It is made of granite and limestone, unlike the prevalent marble that Enbarr’s castle boasts. In comparison, House Aegir, which utilises sandstone as its foundation, is both smaller and less grand. It was built only a little over a hundred years before when Ferdinand’s great-great grandfather solidified the political power of the House. 

Before that, House Aegir had been devout members of the Church. They farmed the land of Aegir as an act of devotion to Saint Cichol. Ferdinand was still taught the House prayer to Saint Cichol when he was very young, a strange, archaic spiel that went:

_O Cichol, grant me favour  
Bless my blood in praise of your name  
O Cichol, may my heart never falter  
As I do your immortal work forever_

Ferdinand has not prayed in earnest nor with these words since he was early in his time at Garreg Mach. He had felt even less use for prayer once the war came. It was hollow, and he was not like Lorenz or Marianne who found actual solace in psalms and hymnals. He loves to sing, but it is a communal activity, and Ferdinand likes people. His continued participation in the Church choir is less for spiritual fulfilment or examination and more for camaraderie.

These are the strange thoughts, however, that occupy Ferdinand’s mind as he watches Dimitri unlock a room a good way removed from the festivities and grand hall. The castle is not so large that they can escape the music and increasingly loud party, but this is secluded enough that they will be able to have some measure of privacy. 

Dimitri pushes open the door. Motions for Ferdinand to follow as he steps inside. 

Ferdinand belatedly realises he does not know why Dimitri has brought him here.

He is already following. 

This room –

“This was once my stepmother’s room,” Dimitri says as Ferdinand lights the entrance’s candles in their holders with his Fire. “She preferred to see the sun as much as possible, so the conservatory was converted for her.” 

Ferdinand crosses to where a writing desk and harpsichord sits just out of direct light. There are several lamps set up, and Ferdinand lights them as Dimitri moves to pull the covers off the couch and broken duchess by the hearth. The case of the harpsichord is decorated ornately with a pastoral image of cattle grazing in a field and framed by purple, red, and pale blue wildflowers. The flowers are outlined in gold leaf. 

Almost outside of himself, Ferdinand reaches out and traces one of the red flowers. 

“Do you,” Dimitri’s voice filters in, although not deep enough to draw Ferdinand’s hand from its progress or his gaze back, “know how to play?” 

Ferdinand forces his hand to stop. Lift. Up and away. He turns to Dimitri, who looks at him from where he has sat down on one side of the couch. The room is lit but chilly. Dimitri hasn’t tried to light the hearth. 

“I do,” Ferdinand says, moving to the hearth and leaning down. “That piece is from Enbarr. Probably made twenty or so years ago. I recognise the gilding technique.” 

“Ah,” Dimitri breathes as Ferdinand calls his Fire again to the wood in the hearth. “It was a courting gift for my mother. Father did say that she was a gifted musician.” 

Ferdinand feeds the hearth. His Fire licks up around his fingers and over the back of his hand. He remembers when Byleth first made him learn black magic, he had been secretly frightened of burning himself. Those days seem so long ago. 

He takes his hand out of the flames. Stands. Turns.

Dimitri watches him with tired but very present eyes. 

“Do you know how to play?” 

Ferdinand, despite himself, hesitates. When he regathers himself, Dimitri’s expression has begun to soften. Pity is not the reaction Ferdinand wants at all. 

“I do,” Ferdinand says, and he has to be careful to modulate his voice, which makes his tone a bit stilted. “But not very well. Like most noble children in Adestria, I was taught some arts. I was not particularly interested in the harpsichord. I liked singing and dancing better because I admired the opera.” 

“You have a very good voice,” Dimitri says, very earnestly.

Ferdinand opens his mouth. Shuts it. Dimitri keeps his gaze firmly on Ferdinand’s face. His body language, however, is very open and very friendly. 

Ferdinand is suddenly struck that Dimitri is flirting with him. 

This is, all together, very bizarre. 

He has been aware of his attraction to Dimitri for quite some time. Ferdinand likes handsome, hard-working men, who are dedicated to a cause that brings out their charity and compassion on a public scale. Dimitri also has the kind countenance weathered by experience that Ferdinand simply adores because a part of Ferdinand is still utterly attracted to his childhood ideals of true nobility. It is not noble as a station of blood and birth but a state of respect earned by merit and dedication to do good. All of these qualities are exemplified in Dimitri when he is at his best. Ferdinand had resigned himself back in the days of the war to never acting upon his attraction because Dimitri is his King, and between the two of them, they both have a lot of baggage. 

Dimitri is the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. The fact of the matter is that Ferdinand is, at heart, utterly Adrestian. A part of him will always miss the Empire and mourn its ending. He misses the country that put on operas and plays and had the wealth and a patronage system to fund art. In his darkest moments, Ferdinand wonders how he could have saved it. If he had not switched houses, if he could have convinced everyone else not to change, if they had stayed with Edelgard even though they did not believe in her cause:

_Did it have to be this way?_

But even as those thoughts form, Ferdinand knows that it did have to be this way, at least with the circumstances and the resources they had during the war. He does not need to look at Dimitri or voice any of these thoughts aloud to know that he is not the only one who has these doubts. 

“Dimitri,” Ferdinand says because they have simply been standing and watching each other as the silence stretched, “I am not confident in my ability to play, but I can offer other entertainments that I am much more confident in, if you would have me.” 

Dimitri blinks. “That,” he starts before he smiles, awkward and self-effacing and much more himself than he has been all evening, “is a very strange way to not reject someone.” 

“Showing me your step-mother’s harpsichord is also a very strange gesture,” Ferdinand points out, even as he feels heat attempting to make its way up his neck and over his cheeks.

It earns him a bright bark of a laugh. Dimitri’s shoulders relax, and he takes a few steps forward, closing the gap between them. He radiates warmth, which is very welcome in the still chilly room. Chilly by Ferdinand’s much more southern standards. It is so incredible that this is what Dimitri and many other northern Faerghus people consider the height of summer. 

“I don’t have broad interests,” Dimitri says.

“And I do?” Ferdinand asks, feeling faintly giddy as Dimitri smiles wider. “Bernadetta was nearly bored to tears by my nathering on the way here about our parents’ ambitions.” 

“I am sure she was not,” Dimitri chuckles as Ferdinand gives in and leans up to try a kiss. 

Dimitri tastes like meat and cheese, which is exactly the contents of his dinner plate. It is not exactly pleasant, and Ferdinand does not like Gautier cheese now anymore than he ever did, but it is not the worst thing Ferdinand has ever tasted when kissing. Dimitri knows, too, how to kiss back, and his lips press firmly and part enough to not be chaste nor sloppy. Ferdinand reaches up, bracing his hands against Dimitri’s upper arms. Dimitri takes the cue to wrap his arms around Ferdinand’s waist. 

When they pull apart –

_may my heart never falter_

“Ah,” Dimitri sighs, still smelling of dinner and blinking owlishly as Ferdinand’s eyes also do the same, “you are as attractive as I thought.”

“Is this a joke about your sight?” Ferdinand asks, a bit high-pitched; he feels extremely giddy. “It is not so bad. You are able to shoot arrows well.”

“From an arm’s length away,” Dimitri murmurs, adjusting his hold on Ferdinand’s waist to bring them closer together. 

“Oh,” Ferdinand says because he realises that Dimitri is correct; he has never seen his King shoot an arrow since their academy days from a longer distance. “Well. I –”

It is a relief and very exciting to be cut off from babbling by another kiss. 

Dimitri breathes out, his chest rumbling on a contained laugh. Ferdinand cannot help himself in kissing more aggressively back. Dimitri makes a low noise and truly tightens his hold, their kiss increasing in passion. Ferdinand feels incongruently triumphant. He is fine with being laughed at because he knows he can be quite silly, but he will have a bit of playful revenge if he wishes. 

He is, at this moment, extraordinarily happy. 

It may not have had to be this way. But this is what it is. 

The world stretches out before them. It is their will that will change it, and it is their will that will make it good. Fódlan has many challenges. Ferdinand is most equipped to deal with those of the land. Dimitri is, despite his own misgivings, a popular and charismatic king. They both have good, dedicated people around them. They support each other. They, Ferdinand fully understands now, have come to love each other. 

There are many battles ahead, but from tonight and forevermore:

They have each other.


End file.
